


Visits

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Team Free Will, no shipping just friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes taking place across the series, Seasons 4, 5, and possibly 6 -- Castiel visits Dean and Sam, occasionally just Dean, sometimes at their motels, and sometimes in dreams. They learn a thing or two from each other, and friendship grows. (Because that tends to happen when you're saving the world together.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on my writing tumblr, same url as my username.
> 
> Set sometime soon after 4x07 (Approx. 11/3/08). 
> 
> Dean lives on junk food and beer, and does not realize this is a bad habit to teach an angel.

"—Dean, why did you call me?"

To his credit, Dean didn’t jump when Castiel’s voice echoed in the suddenly occupied space behind and to the left of him. He turned and grinned at the angel, waving a hand impatiently. 

"C’mere, Cas."

The angel didn’t budge, blinking owlishly at him from across the motel room. “Dean, I have told you before, unless it’s important, you should refrain—”

Dean cut him off. “It _is_ important, Cas, man.” He waved at the motel room table, where a white bakery box and a six-pack of beer sat innocently. “Sammy ran off to do research or something and gifted me with some grub, and while I could probably finish off that delicious pie all by my lonesome, I figured I’d extend the hand of friendship and invite you to share.”

Castiel frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. “Share…? Dean, I do not require food, you should know this.”

Dean groaned and stood, grabbing Castiel by the upper arm and tugging him over to the table. “Blah, blah, blah - I don’t _care_ , Cas. Just because you don’t ‘require’ it or whatever doesn’t mean you can’t have it. Just accept the damn gesture and eat your damn pie.”

Castiel awkwardly sat down in the chair opposite the one Dean flopped into, and stared at the box on the table before tilting his head up to stare at the hunter. Dean swore one of these days he was gonna smack the angel for staring at him all creepy like that. 

"…Eat it with what, Dean?" He said finally, and Dean groaned. He opened the box, grabbing two plastic forks out of the bag he’d brought the pie back in and cutting Cas a piece, plopping it on a napkin and sliding it in front of him with one of the forks.

"There. Use the fork, eat the pie." He said, his patience starting to grate. While he liked the dark-haired, trenchcoated angel a hell of a lot more than he liked that junkless douchebag Uriel, the guy still managed to be incredibly aggravating. Like now. How the hell did one not even know basic shit like this?

He cut himself a piece of the pie - mmm, apple, Sam really outdid himself this time - and dug in, glancing up after his second piece to see Castiel still staring at his first slice. God fucking damn it.

"Cas, what the hell? Eat the pie! How hard is that?" He demanded, waving his fork at the angel.

Cas finally looked up, and his expression was one of such lost helplessness that Dean actually froze. “I…I’m not supposed to— enjoy pleasures of the earth, Dean.” He began. “It’s against my mission here.”

It occurred to Dean, then, Castiel’s words to him two weeks ago, hurried and hushed as if he was confessing to murder - _”I have questions, I have doubts.”_ It was only now though that the full weight of his meaning started to sink in - he was afraid of breaking rules, of…of what? He wasn’t sure, but it was obviously fucking the angel up something fierce. Dean couldn’t help the sympathetic smile that flickered across his face.

"Cas, it’s just pie. It won’t kill you or anything. Promise." He chuckled. "Would it make you feel better if I _ordered_ you to eat?”

Castiel hesitated, tilting his head slightly before admitting - god, did he not understand subtlety or what? - “Perhaps it might. I…could hardly argue with an order from you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean laughed. “Well, alright then.” He reached out and put a bottle of beer next to Castiel’s slice of pie before grabbing one for himself. “Cas, I hereby order you to have some pie and beer with me. Now get started.”

He took a swig of beer and watched, almost fascinated, as Castiel slowly picked up the fork, and almost delicately scooped up the end piece of the pie. He stared at it for a moment before hesitantly putting it in his mouth. 

There was silence for a long second, and then Castiel’s face…changed. Well, not changed so much as lit up. Dean blinked, genuinely surprised at how…happy he looked. It was weird, though, because he wasn’t smiling at all — he just…looked happy. Surprised-happy.

"This is…very good, Dean." He said after a moment, still looking almost surprised that he was even saying that. Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and then laughed. 

"Told you so. Now go on and finish that slice. I’m on number three, so you better hurry if you want more."

Castiel blinked, and turned his full attention onto the poor slice of pie. Dean just grinned and started in on piece three. A moment later a cough made him look up again, and he laughed harder. 

"Breathe, Cas. Don’t choke on the friggin’ thing." He said, grinning, nudging the beer with his hand. "Take a drink, man."

Still coughing, Castiel nodded and fumbled with the bottle, taking a long drink after Dean opened it for him.

"You okay, buddy?" Dean asked, traces of amusement still in his voice.

"Y-Yes." Castiel replied, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking a bit startled. "I don’t understand, what—"

"You were eating too fast, man." Dean joked. "I know I said to hurry up, but not that much. Don’t inhale it.”

"Dean, I believe it is physically impossible to inhale solid—" 

"Cas, shut up and eat."

The angel nodded obediently and complied, and the rest of the pie was eaten in relative silence.

The pie box emptied and the six pack finished, Dean stood to toss the empty containers. He was by the door, his back turned, when Castiel spoke up.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean chuckled, not turning around. “No prob, Cas. Figured you need a break once in a while, with all your big important orders and all, and your buddies having such a massive collective stick up their asses.”

"I don’t…" Castiel began, then gave up. "Dean, we’re trying to prevent the Apocalypse. Of course our orders are important."

"I know, Cas! I _know_. But that don’t mean you gotta work yourself ragged. Everyone could use a break, even a stuffy angel like you.” He straightened, watching the angel in the reflection of the motel window.

"A…break." Castiel repeated. "I suppose…you may be right, Dean." His voice had gotten that soft tone again, the one Dean figured meant he was admitting something he thought would earn him some kind of punishment. "This was…restful. I enjoyed it. Could I…come back sometime?"

Dean blinked. “Sure, why not?” He replied with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”

"Thank you again." Castiel replied, and was gone in a flutter of invisible wings before Dean could turn around.

Huh.

Angels were assholes, but Cas wasn’t so bad, it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted on my writing tumblr, same url as my username.
> 
> Set a bit after 4x10 (Approx. 11/24/08)
> 
> Always let a wet angel in out of the rain, even when you're mad at him.

It was about four in the morning when Sam rolled over, a deep rumble of thunder waking him, and saw a beige figure standing in the downpour outside their hotel room.

"Holy— Dean!" He called, sliding out of bed and grabbing his pants, hopping into them as Dean moaned into the pillow.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" He grumbled, and only grew louder as Sam chucked his jeans at him.

"Cas is standing outside in the rain, and judging from how wet he looks, he’s been out there for a while." Sam explained, shirt over his head.

"So?"

Sam’s head appeared through the collar, glaring at Dean. “So? There’s a soaking wet angel staring at our damn window, that’s what’s  _so_  about it! I don’t wanna find out if angels can get sick, so get your ass out of bed and be nice!”

Dean glared back. “After what happened with Anna? Man, no. He can  _stay_  out there.”

"Dean!" Sam snarled, spinning around and practically slamming the door open, stalking out into the torrential rain to grab Castiel by the wrist and drag him inside.

Dean had put his jeans on, but simply turned and crossed his arms when the two came back into the room, refusing to speak to either of them. 

Sam didn’t say anything to Dean, just made Castiel - who looked miserable - stand in the front of the room. “Stay there, Cas, and take your wet clothes off, okay?” He said. “I’ll get you some towels.”

Castiel blinked at him owlishly, as he was wont to do. “Take them off…?” He asked. 

"Yeah, Cas." Sam paused. "You, uh… _can_  do that, right?”

Castiel hesitated, and for a moment Sam swore he was going to say no. But then he awkwardly reached up and gracelessly tugged at the knot of his tie, letting it drop to the floor. His coat came off next, with a wet thump, and then his suit jacket and shirt. He looked very small without the coat, almost lost and childlike, watching Sam with those confused blue eyes, and Sam had to turn away and get the towels. He elbowed Dean hard in the side as he passed, hissing at him annoyedly to help, will you, damn it?

Dean frowned angrily, but turned to glance back at Castiel, and froze. The angel was standing awkwardly amid his wet clothing, clad only in the most ridiculously normal pair of white boxers he’d ever seen. He looked very small and vulnerable, and shivered slightly, though his arms never moved from his sides.

Dean made a valiant effort to keep being angry, but then the angel turned those stupid fucking lost-looking eyes on him and it failed miserably. He saw those miserable eyes and couldn’t help but picture Sam with that same expression. Well, fuck, there went his big brother instincts on overdrive, he was officially screwed.

He sighed heavily and walked over to Castiel, crossing his arms. “How long were you standing out there, Cas?”

Castiel shivered again, and shook his head slightly. “A very long time, I think.” He murmured. “It wasn’t raining when I arrived.”

Not raining…well, it had started raining about sunset, and they’d been at the hotel since a few hours before…he glanced at the clock and groaned out loud. “Cas, what the hell? Have you really been standing out there for what, ten hours? In the fucking rain?!” He turned to glare at the angel, but faltered when he flinched slightly back from him.

"I…didn’t think you would want me to come in." He admitted. "Not after what happened."

Well, he’d be right, but hell if Dean was gonna say that out loud. “You should’ve anyway, Cas! Don’t they teach you anything in angel school? You don’t stand out in the rain like that!”

Cas looked even smaller. “We don’t have ‘angel school’, Dean. So no, I was not informed of that rule…”

Dean groaned, and snatched a towel from Sam’s arms when he returned, throwing it over Castiel’s head. The angel didn’t move, so Dean reached out and grabbed both his wrists, bringing them up to the towel and dropping them there. “Dry yourself off, dumbass. Don’t stand there.”

Castiel obliged, awkwardly attempting to dry his hair off with slow, jerky movements. It was times like these that it really sunk in how alien this all was to him. Dean sighed, gathering the sopping wet clothes off the floor and heading to the bathroom, leaving Sam to show Castiel the right way to dry off.

He shoved the curtain out of the way, and draped the clothes over the shower rod, one by one. He lingered for a moment on the coat, staring down at it curiously. It was weird seeing it like this, not being worn. Like he was holding a body part Castiel had removed; it seemed as vital to the angel’s being as his arms and legs, honestly. He put it on the rod with the rest of the clothes, though he was a bit more delicate with it. It didn’t seem like something to be rough with.

He returned to the main room to see Sam messing with the coffee machine, and Castiel sitting in a chair wrapped snugly in a spare blanket. The angel still stared out from the blue cotton absently, though his eyes flicked to Dean when he came back.

"You’re gonna have to stay ‘til your clothes dry, Cas." Dean told him, and the angel looked genuinely worried.

"I don’t have to if you don’t want me to." He said softly, but Dean shook his head.

"You’re staying."

His voice was firm, and Castiel just nodded, retreating into the warmth of the blanket around him.

Sam finished whatever he was doing with the machine, and brought a steaming mug over to Castiel. “Here, Cas.” He held out the mug. 

Castiel didn’t move, staring innocently and confusedly at the mug. “What is it?”

Sam sighed. “Warm milk.” Dean blinked at that, surprised, but Sam continued. “It’ll warm you back up. Dean used to make it for me when we were kids and it was cold out.”

Dean sighed slightly, almost embarrassed. They barely knew this guy and Sam was already getting all touchy-feely confession with him. And he had to bring Dean into it, didn’t he? Great.

"Did you really, Dean?" Came the soft query, and Dean rolled his eyes inwardly.

"Yeah, so? That’s what big brothers do." He said, huffing. "Take care of the little brother. Right, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. And little brothers have to take care of the big brother when he does something ridiculous.” He grinned, and Dean glared.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The two laughed, and fell companionably silent for a moment, until Castiel spoke up.

"You two are very good brothers, I think." He said hesitantly, only to fall silent in a hurry as the two turned to look at him as one.

"Yeah?" Dean asked "How would you know?"

Castiel shook his head slightly, sipping awkwardly at the mug of milk. There was an almost uncomfortable silence before Castiel finally spoke again, in that quiet, confessional voice he used sometimes.

"The Host…we consider each other our brothers and sisters." He explained softly. "All angels are siblings to each other."

"Oh." Dean said, surprised. He….hadn’t known that. He glanced over at Sam, who returned his raised eyebrow with a slightly amused look that said he  _had_  known that, and Dean smacked him before looking back at Castiel. 

"So…all of you?" He asked. "Big family. You guys don’t act it, though." 

Castiel looked down for a moment, and when he looked up, Dean had to mentally correct himself. The wet-puppy face wasn’t the most miserable he’d ever seen Castiel —  _this_  was.

"No, we don’t." He admitted quietly. "We are siblings, true, but…it seems like that’s the case in name only sometimes." He turned the mug in his hands. "We…hold no special fondness for each other. If we are told to end the life of one of our brothers or sisters, we do so, with no regret. We…" He trailed off.

Sam spoke up first this time. “You…what?”

Castiel sighed sadly. “We are nothing like the two of you.” He finished. “We wouldn’t sacrifice our own well-being for any of our siblings. We…we wouldn’t…we are nothing like you.”

Dean felt a twinge of that big brother instinct again, and didn’t even bother ignoring it this time. He stood from the bed, walking over to crouch in front of the blanket-wrapped angel.

"You guys may be a bunch of feathery dicks, for the most part, but hey." He said, a slight smile on his face.  _"You_  care. Right?”

Castiel was very quiet before he looked up, blue eyes meeting green.

"I’m sorry, Dean." He said, voice near a whisper now. "I didn’t want to hurt her."

Dean blinked, confused, before he realized — Anna. 

"Orders, right?" He asked, and Castiel nodded. Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Don’t worry about it, Cas." He said after a moment, and the angel blinked.

"Why not?"

Dean laughed. “She knows. I mean, she bailed as fast as she got her grace back, she’s not stupid, Cas. I know she knows it wasn’t your fault.”

Castiel tried to smile, but it fell very flat. “Do you think so?”

"Sure I do, Cas." Dean said, making himself sound confident - he really didn’t, to be honest, but hey. He didn’t like seeing Cas so miserable. It was really shaking his view of the terminally-too-serious angel, and he didn’t like that. "She’s the most human angel I know, pretty sure she of all people gets it."

Cas nodded, his smile getting a little less miserable. “Thank you for saying that, Dean.” He paused. “Even though you don’t really believe it. It’s appreciated.”

Dean winced, chuckling. “Least I could do, man.” He said, reaching out to pat Castiel on his blanket-covered head. “We’re gonna get some more sleep, Sam and I. Think you can do that, too?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, Dean, I don’t need to sleep. I’ll watch over you, however.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, mildly creeped out, but shrugged. “Sure, Cas, you can do that if you want.” Sam said with a short laugh.

"G’night, Sammy. Night, Cas." Dean called, throwing himself back into his bed.

"Night, Dean. Night, Cas." Sam echoed, glancing back at the bundle of blankets and angel perched on the chair.

"Good night, Sam and Dean." Came the scratchy voice from the bundle. "Sleep well."

When they woke up in the morning, Castiel was gone, and his clothes disappeared from the bathroom - save his tie, which still hung there like a lonely bird.

Dean shoved the tie in his duffel bag when they left, and promptly forgot all about it — but he really didn’t forget Castiel’s miserable expression that night. 

He almost pitied the angel. All that family, and nothing like what he had with Sammy. What a shame.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted on my writing tumblr, same url as my username.
> 
> Set between 4x10 and 4x15 (Approx. 12/14/08)
> 
> Emotionally constipated angels are never fun to deal with, especially when you've already got a little brother with a similar condition to put up with.

Sam was outside unpacking the car, with Dean inside the motel room when Castiel showed up. 

Dean nearly fell off the bed, but sat up to stare at the slightly disheveled angel standing in the middle of the room. He looked…well, if Dean were honest, Castiel looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asked, deciding not to complain about his sudden appearance this time.

Castiel didn’t respond, simply looked around the room slowly before moving to sit down on the chair nearest him. 

"Cas?" Dean tried again, and received the same lack of response. Castiel simply sat in the chair, staring down at his hands, which sat loosely in his lap.

Sam came in from outside, and stopped in the doorway upon seeing Castiel. The two brothers exchanged looks, Dean shaking his head. Sam nodded, quietly putting the stuff in his arms down on the other bed before going to sit next to Dean.

They both watched the angel, waiting for him to say something — this behavior was very odd to say the least. Whenever the angel had come to them willingly, he’d always had information for them, or a status update - this silence was new and very disturbing.

Dean glanced down at Castiel’s hands again, and his eyes widened, seeing for the first time the red splatter on them - blood? And as he looked closer, there was blood speckling Castiel’s face, too. He stood, moving over to Castiel and standing in front of him hesitantly.

"Cas, what happened?" He asked. "Talk to me, man."

When the angel looked up, Dean realized that once again, he had to correct himself -  _this_  was the most miserable he’d ever seen Castiel. This was getting kind of sad.

"We lost another seal today." He began, his voice already at scratchy-whisper levels. "I was among the team sent to protect it. We failed."

He stopped talking, looking back down at his bloodied hands. “We lost five angels in the battle. I and one other were the only survivors.”

Sam and Dean froze, exchanging another look. That was…shit. Shit, what the hell do you say to that?

Dean straightened, turning and entering the bathroom to grab a towel, before returning to Castiel and starting to wipe the blood off his hands and face.

Castiel just sat there for a long moment, not fighting Dean’s ministrations or even seeming to notice them, before he hesitantly tugged the towel from his grasp and put it to the side.

"Thank you, Dean, but I’m alright." He said quietly, but it was an obvious lie. Dean sighed furiously, smacking the angel upside the head.

"No, you aren’t." He told him firmly. "Look, you just lost a bunch of good men and women — hell, your siblings or whatever, right?" He crossed his arms. "You’re definitely not okay, so stop with the bullshit."

Sam nodded, standing to join Dean. “Yeah, Cas. You can talk to us, you know. It’s okay.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered up to them, and he shook his head. “No, I…I shouldn’t.” He stood, and the miserable look on his face disappeared, wiped away and replaced by his usual blank expression.

"Cas…" Dean tried, but the weird openness from his last visits, that confessional air about him, was gone. Closed back off. He straightened his coat, as if about to leave, but impulsively, Dean grabbed his arm.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel said, his softer-than-usual voice betraying his expressionless demeanor. 

Dean stood dumbly for a moment — what the hell  _had_  he been about to say, anyway? Chick-flick moment, much? He lowered his hand, fumbling for some kind of excuse to explain away his temporary insanity (because he really did  _not_  want to accept the fact that his big brother instinct was reacting to someone that wasn’t Sam).

"You, uh…you left your tie behind last time." He said finally. "Figured you might want it back."

Castiel blinked. “Oh. Did I?” One of his hands came up to his collar, moving his fingers as if to adjust the blue piece of cloth only to find that no, it really wasn’t there. He tilted his head slightly, frowning at the offending anatomy like it was his hand’s fault, before looking back at Dean, who had retrieved the tie from his duffel bag.

"Here, Cas." He said, offering the angel the tie. Castiel just stared at it, his brow furrowed in confusion, and it took a minute for Dean to catch on.

"Oh— oh. You don’t know how to tie it, do you?" He asked, laughing. What a kid. His earlier awkwardness was gone, and he exchanged an eyeroll with Sam before looping the tie around Castiel’s neck.

"Here, let me show you." He said, tugging both ends lightly. It was a bit weird, tying it from the front, but he’d spent enough time doing up Sammy’s when they were younger that—  _oh, no, Dean, you stop right there and don’t even start. Don’t start thinking about little Sammy, ‘cause you just got done making yourself quit comparing him to Cas._

He finished tying the knot without noticing, and jerked his hands away when he realized they’d lingered on the tie for a moment too long.

"There you go, Cas." He waved his hands casually. "One tie, all done."

Castiel nodded shortly, fingering the knot of the tie absently. “Thank you, Dean.” He said, his tone of voice back to it’s usual hoarse formality.

"Don’t mention it." Dean shrugged, and when he turned to Sam, heard the flutter of wings that signaled the angel’s departure.

The Winchesters remained quiet for a long moment, before Sam spoke up.

"Well, that was weird. Do you think something’s going on with him, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Doesn’t seem to want to tell us, though, so it’s not our problem.” He flopped backwards onto his bed, turning to look at Sam, whose own forehead was furrowed in thought.

"But Dean, he did come to us—"

Dean sighed. “No, Sammy. Stop overthinking it. He’ll be fine, okay? Go to sleep.”

Sam sighed and nodded, reaching to turn out the light. 

In the darkness, though, Dean frowned up at the ceiling. What was going on with that dumbass angel, anyway? And why the hell was it bugging him so much?

Dreams didn’t help the conundrum either, with Dean trying to comfort a crying child that sometimes looked like Sam and other times like Ben, but every once in a while, the sobbing kid had dark hair and bright blue eyes, older and more miserable then they had any right to be.

Fuck this shit, man. He had enough problems without dealing with an emotionally constipated angel, too.

Let’s hope that was the end of it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted on my writing tumblr, same url as my username.
> 
> Set sometime between 4x17 and 4x20 (Approx. 4/6/09)
> 
> High maintenance angels are such a pain, especially ones who alternate between a soldier and a six year-old. (And of course, when he does go to Dean like he promised, 4x20 happens.)

Dean was in the middle of a very nice dream involving a blonde in bunny ears and a copious amount of whipped cream when the scene suddenly shifted, and he was sitting in the middle of a wide, sunny field, so green and verdant you could practically  _smell_  the Disney.

He sat stunned for a second, then leaped to his feet, looking down in a panic only to realize with no small amount of relief that he was wearing jeans — no shirt, no shoes, but at least he had his pants on.

He absently wiggled his toes in the grass, before looking around him. There was nothing much to see, and he frowned in annoyance before he saw a familiar beige-wrapped figure approaching him. Somehow, though, this did nothing to quell the annoyance.

"Cas." He said flatly, greeting the angel.

Castiel didn’t respond, fidgeting slightly, and Dean gave him another once-over. The other man’s hands weren’t, for once, dangling loosely by his sides, instead tucked into his coat pockets. His stubble looked darker than before, and his tie was lopsided to the point of nearly being undone. And despite the fact that angels didn’t sleep, he looked exhausted.

"…Cas?" He repeated, the coldness ebbing from his voice. Sure, they’d parted on…not the  _best_ terms the last time they’d spoken — but with him in this state, that whole stupid ‘big-brother-instinct-even-though-he’s-not-Sam’ thing was starting in again. “You okay?”

Castiel didn’t respond, but he at least had the courtesy to lift a hand from his pocket and gesture Dean over, before gracelessly slumping to the grass beneath him and crossing his legs. It was a ludicrous picture, Dean thought with a grin as he joined the angel on the ground. A scrawny guy in a suit and trenchcoat and some shirtless buff guy with their asses plopped in the grass in the middle of a goddamn Disney movie.

The thing that stopped making it funny was the exhaustion in every line of Castiel’s face, in the dullness of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

"I’m tired, Dean." Castiel said finally, his head bowed. "Very tired."

Dean frowned. “Thought angels didn’t get tired.” He asked, trying to disguise genuine concern with his usual sass.

"They don’t." Castiel agreed, absently pulling at the blades of grass beside him. "But I am."

Dean frowned, pesky big-brother instincts at war with the distinctly unamused part of him that just wanted to smack the angel and tell him to get over it. “Why?”

Castiel shrugged helplessly, but Dean wasn’t stupid. He’d seen that expression and body language before a half a million times — averted eyes, studious lip-chewing, and hands unable to quit fidgeting. Sam had perfected that whole performance when he was little, and it screamed LYING at the top of its lungs. (It was also almost pathetic in its childishness, making the man look a third his age in the worst way.)

He was tempted to just snap at him and be done with it, but childish behavior seemed to demand an equal response, and without really thinking too hard about it, he shifted so he was sitting in front of the angel, and leaned in slightly. Good thing he’d done this so many times with Sam when they were kids he’d memorized the whole song and dance.

"C’mon, Cas." He coaxed, smiling encouragingly. "Talk to me, man. You came here for a reason, right? Talk to me."

Castiel lifted his other hand to his face, rubbing it in one of the most human gestures Dean had ever seen him perform, before finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

"I can’t, Dean." He said softly. "I wish I could, but I can’t."

Dean’s hands twitched, and he raised them to sit firmly on Castiel’s shoulders. “If you can’t, why’d you come here?” He asked.

Castiel looked away, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “I thought…I don’t know.” He admitted. “I don’t know, Dean.”

There was an awkward silence, that seemed to stretch on for hours, before Castiel continued.

"I…Things have been very difficult for me, recently." He explained, haltingly, that confessional whisper returning to his voice and making Dean feel more than ever like the angel was about to go into a whole ‘forgive me father’ spiel. "I’m no longer sure what to do, and I…am almost afraid."

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “Afraid…?” He repeated. He didn’t think angels could be scared of anything, honestly. Angels were the ones who made everyone  _else_  piss themselves. And yet Castiel was afraid…and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t anything he could stab or punch.

"Yes, afraid." Castiel’s voice lowered further, and Dean had to strain to hear it. "There are…things I am beginning to doubt, to question. And that frightens me." He paused, licking his lips uncertainly, as if about to change his mind and stop talking.

"Yeah?" Dean asked softly, urging him to continue.

Castiel nodded slightly. “It frightens me…and so do the consequences of such actions. My superiors, if they…” He cut himself off this time, glancing around and above with wide eyes, as if expecting to be struck down on the spot. It probably would have been funny if it didn’t make Dean’s stomach twist.

"Hey, c’mon, it’s okay." Dean tried to reassure him, patting his shoulders helplessly. "Say the word and I’ll step in, tell ‘em to fuck off. I’m their pet ‘righteous one’ or whatever, right? Won’t that get ‘em to listen to me?"

Castiel just shook his head with a ferocity that surprised Dean. “No, Dean, not this time.” He said quietly. “They think you’re part of the problem, you and Sam. You can’t help me.”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh, removing his hands from Castiel’s shoulders and standing, crossing his arms. “So I can’t help, and you can’t really tell me everything. What the hell  _can_  I do, then?! Why the hell did you come?!”

Castiel didn’t look up at him, fidgeting again. “I’m sorry.” He murmured. “I just…” He hesitated before meeting Dean’s gaze. “I thought I could trust you.” He admitted.

Dean froze. What—  _what—_  fuck. Jesus fuck,  _that_  was a bombshell he wasn’t expecting. He’d known the angel, what….this was barely April, right? So about eight months. Eight fucking months, most of which was spent not even seeing him except for when he zapped in, gave orders and zapped out, and the guy had the stones to say he  _trusted_  Dean? Trusted him enough to admit to what probably amounted to a cardinal sin for angels? Fucking hell.

He ran a hand down his face before looking back at Castiel, and the amount of frightened, desperate hope in his eyes was enough to chase any thoughts of telling him to get over it out of his head.

"H-Hey, Cas." He began, leaning down to offer him a hand up. "Look, you said I can’t do anything to help, but, uh…listen. You need anything, anything at all, you come to me. You get freaked out like this, or something happens, come talk to me. I’ll do whatever I can, alright?" He smiled as he helped Castiel to his feet.

"You can trust me, alright?"

Castiel hesitated, not letting go of Dean’s hand for a long moment before he dropped it, his own hands going back to his sides.

"Alright, Dean…" He said quietly.

Dean shook his head. “No, man. Promise me, okay? Promise you’ll come to me first thing.”

Castiel looked genuinely startled, but nodded hurriedly. “I…I promise, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Good. Take care of yourself, Cas.”

Castiel just nodded, and then was gone with a flutter of wings.

Dean woke up a few moments later, sunlight streaming in through the window of the motel room. He groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes. Now he had two frustrating kids to take care of. Great. 

Well, at least Sam he could keep an eye on more consistently. He just hoped Castiel would actually keep that promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted on my writing tumblr, same url as my username.
> 
> Set sometime between the beginning of 5x2 and 5x3. (Approx. 5/27/09) (Takes place after the conversation at the hospital and before they get to River Pass, CO.)
> 
> Dean, stop giving the angel liquor. You're going to make him an alcoholic.

Dean wasn’t actually aware he was sleeping until the interior of the Impala shifted to a rather bare living room - then he remembered he and Sam had pulled over to the side of the road on their way to River Pass. It wasn’t too long a drive, but the events of the past few days had them bone-fucking-tired, and like hell was Dean gonna drive his baby half asleep.

So yes, he was dreaming. Weird setting, though, and he glanced around, half-expecting a Playboy spread to miraculously appear in a doorway.

No bunnies, though. Just Castiel.

"Cas!" Dean grinned, stepping around the coffee table to approach the angel. "Man, finally, we get a minute to talk, you’ve been popping in and out like a goddamn Whack-A-Mole lately!"

Castiel tilted his head in slight confusion for a moment, but it passed surprisingly quickly, his face never losing it’s frown. He took a step forward, lifting a hand slightly, before letting it fall and looking away. “I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Cas. You were kind of a shithead, but then you helped us so we’re good. Okay?”

Castiel shook his head. “I…I know, but I want to explain.” He began, still not meeting Dean’s eyes. “What I was trying to tell you that time, and why I…left so suddenly. Why I wouldn’t help you at first.”

Dean paused, stomach clenching with a sense of dread that he really wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to be told.

He glanced around, eyes falling on a liquor cabinet that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Ah, thank god for dreamscapes. He stepped over, opening the cabinet and taking out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He was gonna need something strong for this, he just knew it.

He gestured Castiel over to the couch, placing the bottle and glasses on the table and pouring them both a decent amount of liquor, downing his glass and pouring himself a refill before he handed Castiel the other glass. The angel stared at it, before shrugging almost imperceptibly and downing the glass, much to Dean’s approval.

"Nice." He refilled Castiel’s glass, and gestured with his own. "Okay, now that we’re sufficiently boozed up, go on, Cas. Talk to me."

Castiel hesitated, quickly downing his second glass and pouring himself a third before speaking. “I was…I had heard of Zachariah’s plan to allow Lucifer to be released, and I— I wanted to warn you.”

"Oh." Dean managed. That would have been…that would’ve been fucking great to have known in advance, actually. Like, shit, thanks, Cas, now I can prevent Sam from doing something ridiculously stupid and  _STARTING THE APOCALYPSE_. Fucking Zachariah. He downed the rest of the whiskey angrily. “So what happened? When we got to the warehouse, it looked like a bomb went off.”

Castiel flinched slightly, making Dean aware that no small amount of his anger had bled through into his voice. “I— There were…angels waiting for me.” He explained. “I was…forcibly vacated from my vessel, and returned to Heaven for…reeducation.”

Dean froze, glass midway to his lips. He was vaguely aware that Castiel had stopped talking, and thank God, because he probably wouldn’t have heard the rest of what he’d said.  _Reeducation._  Dean wasn’t an idiot, as much as he acted like it, and he knew full well what that term meant.

He slowly lowered his glass and turned to the angel, who was determinedly making his way through another glass of whiskey.

"They tortured you." The words tasted acrid on his tongue. He knew angels were dicks, but…torture? Torture. Angels torturing their own men for disobeying orders. That’s not fucking something angels do, that sounded like something from downstairs. And hell, he of all people would know.

Castiel just nodded, pouring himself another glass and downing it in quick gulps, refusing to look over at Dean.

Dean stood sharply, suddenly furious. “They fucking tortured you for— for what, for helping us?! For treating us like people instead of tools?! For being the only fucking  _decent_  angel I’ve ever met!?” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he needed to punch something.

"Dean…"

"Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe that! Just….goddamnit, I am gonna fucking kick that stupid featherbrained dick’s ass, so help me, he’s gonna wish he never even saw me!"

“ _Dean!_ ”

Dean stopped his rant abruptly, startled silent at Castiel raising his voice. He turned back to look, and felt somewhat guilty when he saw the state the angel was in. His hands were shaking as they held the class, and he was very pale. 

"Dean, please. Stop talking about it." His voice tried valiantly to stay steady, but the crack on the last syllable made Dean forget any complaint he’d made about treating Castiel like a younger brother.

"I’m sorry, Cas." Dean sat back down, reaching for the bottle of whiskey before realizing it was practically empty — Castiel had pretty much drained the bottle. Dean let out an exasperated chuckle and turned to the angel, gently taking the glass out of his hands.

"C’mon. Think you’ve had enough." 

Castiel looked over at him, a very small smile on his face. “Dean?” He began quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Despite everything, I…" He paused, searching for the right words. "I don’t regret choosing to help you and Sam." He looked away, smile seeming almost to widen. "If this were to happen again, I…I’d make the same call." 

It took Dean a second, but he realized in surprise that Castiel had just…quoted him. From all the way back on Halloween. He let out a startled laugh and grinned widely. “Thanks, Cas.”

He stood, offering him a hand. Castiel took it and stood, but paused in surprise when Dean didn’t let go. Dean just kept grinning, putting his other hand on top of Castiel’s.

"Welcome to the team, Cas. Officially."

Cas brightened and nodded. “Thank you, Dean.” He tugged his hand out of Dean’s and stepped away, adjusting his coat. “I should go. You need to hurry to your friends, and I need to start searching.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. Uh, jokes aside — good luck, Cas. Hope you find him?”

Cas tilted his head in surprise. “I hope so too, Dean.” He replied, leaving the dream in the familiar flutter of wings.

Safe to say, Dean woke up quite satisfied with himself — all in all, good conversation. And he was sure as hell glad to have Castiel on their team. Guy was strange, and a pain in the goddamn ass, but he wasn’t too bad.

And hey,  _some_ _one_  needed to take care of him.


End file.
